


as the world caves in

by KrasotaBella



Category: Myst Series
Genre: Attempted Murder, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, EDIT: I FORGOT TO MENTION, Mentions of Violence, Retelling, i wanna see my boy have emotions okay, just to clear up any confusion, the stranger is referred to by gender neutral pronouns in this!, there is NOT enough Sirrus content, title from As The World Caves In by Matt Maltese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25754605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrasotaBella/pseuds/KrasotaBella
Summary: ’Truly, he’d been doing strikingly well, despite the circumstances.’A study of Sirrus in Revelation, in the events leading up to his death.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	as the world caves in

Truly, he’d been doing strikingly well, despite the circumstances.

The nara crystals, the explosion, the kidnapping of his (dear, darling, soon to be dead) sister—Sirrus’s current plan had been going quite swimmingly. Despite his brother’s barbaric protests, he’d slipped into Serenia without a trace, undetected by the watchful eye of the wretched man he called Father. And to add to it all, the thrill of escaping Spire left him with a buzz of euphoria. Simply seeing a sky not littered with floating rocks left him reeling. Before, in that horrid tower, he could barely grasp the memory of sunlight on his skin. But now...

Not that it mattered. He had a job to do, and only so little time to do it.

His father’s new friend hadn’t perturbed Sirrus at first. While a part of him bristled with rage at how they’d left him in the Prison Book back on Myst, he could not allow them to learn of his plans. _Surely_ , they’d believe his story of madness and sororicide (both of which were accurate, though told from a false perspective).

And if they didn’t, well, the sarcophagus was already prepared. Once he froze his body, there would be no way to stop him from infiltrating his family and exacting revenge. It was _ingenious_.

Or, so he thought.

He watched with glee as terror and confusion mold the Stranger’s face, the figure’s hand hovering over the two levers. Their fear made him confident in his portrayal of poor little Yeesha—Sirrus had always been good at playing the victim (He is reminded of growing up in Myst, crying to Mother about a window that ‘Achenar’ had broken). He eventually saw flashes of weakness in his own brother’s eyes. Weakness born of genuine _care_ for the girl. The sister who’d been taught The Art instead of her brothers. The sister who had _no right_ to the life she had. The sister who hadn’t spent twenty years in cold, _lonesome_ Spire.

The Stranger flinched at the siblings’ furious pleading, eyes flickering between the two in a panic, before they hastily pulled one of the levers.

The _amber_ lever. Of course. That...put a damper in things.

Sirrus snarled out his frustrations before falling unconscious, tightening his hold on Yeesha’s mind. He imagines it as if he’s attached to her by a rope, hanging precariously over the vastness of Dream. It was risky, but from here he could sink into her consciousness and swirl together their memories, confusing her enough to keep himself attached. Despite the haphazardness of the situation, he was virtually untouchable. Even if his father’s friend _could_ enter Dream, he doubted their ability to intervene with the situation...That is, if they didn’t become lost immediately without a spirit guide. 

But Sirrus wasn’t a lucky man. Sure, He was cunning, he was intelligent, and the women would tell you he was quite charming, but Lady Fortune had forever turned a blind eye to his charisma. Because when a figure rose in the distance, surrounded by a soft blue light, he felt the first pits of unease settle in his gut. 

_The Stranger._

They couldn’t...they’d never been to Serenia before. How were they able to traverse in Dream?

He felt himself tense, digging his metaphorical nails into Yeesha’s form. Sirrus could feel them linking onto the girl’s mind. What did they think they were doing? Did they really think they could—

**“I’d like to, sis, but I don’t have a chess set…”**

The sound of his own voice echoing made Sirrus’s blood run cold. It was impossible, inconceivable, but he knew _instantly_ what they were doing. He could feel it, then, feel them carding through the shared memories like pages of a book—

**”You can make one, just like you made my spirit guide!”**

No, no, no, no, _no._ This couldn’t be happening, he’d been so intricate in his planning—so thorough! By The Maker, he was Sirrus; the name alone struck fear into the hearts of those who had inhabited his past worlds. The pirates, the tree weavers, all of those damnable fools who’d stood in his way. _Sirrus_ : King of Spire, conquerer of ages, the forever undefeated—

**“They break so easily.”**

He felt a tear within him, a ripping sensation as the rope began to thin, and fearful concern became wild desperation. He scrambled at Yeesha’s mind, struggling to find purchase and keep himself attached. The expanse of Dream seemed to grow incomprehensibly deeper, surrounding his form and threatening to choke him with vertigo.

**“See this globe, little sister?”**

Sirrus was _fuming_ —a boiling anger at his Father and the horrid traveler that man called a friend. He let himself be consumed by it, pushing down the terror of the situation as he banged against the glowing orb that was Yeesha. If only Father hadn’t refused to teach him The Art, if only he’d realized the _potential_ of his own son—

**”Lights will go on…”**

Once more, the sound of his own voice sent chills up his spine. His hands trembled with adrenaline as he scratched at the mind in front of him—pleading, anguish, terror—he had to win—he had to return—this wasn’t fair—

**“And no one will be able to stop me.”**

Silence. 

A moment of blessed stillness, calm in the storm...He was still attached. _They hadn’t been separated._ Sirrus sighed shakily as the tension seeped from his bones, 

And then the rope _snapped._

Then Sirrus was yanked, dragged backwards like a stone in the rapids, helpless and flailing through the empty clouds, mind reeling, and then Dream was _tearing, ripping, burning, mauling,_ unraveling his consciousness like shredded paper. Flaying him from the core of his being, outturning his insides into shards of broken glass and and he couldn’t _think he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t **scream** —_

He was _dying_.

Was this how they’d felt? Every life that he’d ended during his reign? Was this the experience he’d wrought upon them?

And slowly, as the white-hot claws of Dream shred him to pieces, neurons numb from shock, Sirrus begins to feel a hollow guilt. Over the lives he had burned, the ages he had desecrated. Even the people he had encountered (He is reminded of Saavedro, tied to a post in J’nanin, begging for mercy. He is reminded of the three boys in Stoneship. And he is reminded of his sister—naïve and witty, but oh so _young_.). 

In his final moments, he thinks of Mother, holding him as a child, humming the forgotten songs of Riven. He thinks of his brother, ruffing his hair and tumbling carelessly through the woods of Myst.. And, in a moment of desperation, he thinks of Father. A rare, gentler Father, reading to him field notes of Channelwood’s flora and fauna, fireplace crackling in the background. And for a moment, the lost son, this conqueror of worlds, is washed in a sense of peace. 

And then Sirrus was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!!! Sirrus is one of my FAVORITE characters (we love a good Unhinged Scientist in this household) and this was super fun to write! and ya I made myself a little emotional writing the ending :,)
> 
> tell me what u think in the comments !


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